


What You Can't Run From

by withthebreezesblown



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Character Study, F/M, First Time, Relationship Study, but then it didn't feel necessary so i skipped that part, for now, i reserve the right to wallow in angst later, just so you know and aren't disappointed by that, not smut, so much fluff it's gross, was going to be smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-25 14:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthebreezesblown/pseuds/withthebreezesblown
Summary: Andromeda is a mess. Sara Ryder is a hot fucking mess. But her crew? Well, they're a mess too, but they'rehermess, and somehow that makes everything a little less terrible and a little more okay.A series of interconnected (or not) ficlets about my Ryder and her relationships with family, friends, fuck ups, and Liam. (What do you mean, he isn't a category unto himself? Of course he is.)





	1. From the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This is _not_ being written chronologically, but I will keep the chapters in chronological order, to whatever extent possible, considering that some will span whole sections of the game, so they'll shift around a bit as I add things.

She’s staring at the screen on her brother’s stasis pod, watching the word, “ERROR,” flash across it again and again, wondering exactly how long Dr. T’Perro’s “a little longer” that it will take Scott to wake is meant to be. It normally takes, what, fifteen minutes? So will this take thirty? An hour? The rest of the day? All she knows is that things are suddenly fucked, and she has a terrible sense that they’re only about to get worse, and she’s never once in her life handled “worse” on her own without falling apart. She needs Scott. And right now, Scott needs her. Never mind that he’s still unconscious in there, he isn’t okay, none of this is okay, and she isn’t just leaving him.

When Cora says, “Let’s go, Sara, your dad’s waiting for us on the bridge,” she doesn’t even look up.

She waves a hand, distracted, disinterested. “I’m going to stay with Scott. Go on without me.”

“I know you’re worried about your brother, but we’re already going to be a team member short. We need you, Sara.”

She swears she can actually hear Cora’s sympathy warring with her sense of duty and that tight-assed determination of hers to make sure everything is done just the way Alec Ryder wants it done, and just thinking about that, about _him_ , is enough to leave Sara’s words clipped and bitter. “You’ll manage, I’m sure. Let’s be real, I wouldn’t even be on the team if I wasn’t my father’s daughter. The only things I know anything about are Prothean artifacts, and I’m _pretty fucking sure_ you won’t find any here, so.”

“...Sara, your father--”

And that’s it. That’s all she can stand to hear about Alec fucking Ryder, who isn’t even fucking _here_ because he’s so damned busy being important, and it’s all of exactly nothing, and even that’s too much.

“No! I’m not fucking going, all right?! Look, I get that _this_ ,” she gestures at her brother's stasis pod, the error message still flashing across the screen, “doesn’t mean a damn thing to _the Pathfinder_ , and I wouldn’t _expect_ him to be here for Scott, because he’s _never fucking once been_ there _for either of us_ , but I’m _not_ my fucking father, I’m nothing like that selfish, self-important asshole, and _I’m_ going to be here for Scott!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” She turns to Harry, and at the concerned look on his face, the desire to punch anyone who tries to come near goes out of her. He pulls her into his arms, one hand patting firmly at her back. “You know that’s not true. Well, Alec might be a little bit of a self-important asshole, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you and Scott.”

Where a single word in her father’s defense from Cora would make her see red, she only snorts softly at Harry’s words. Under the medical, chemical smell lingering from cryo, he still smells like _Harry_ , and that’s nice. Her entire list of reasons for coming to Andromeda had consisted of nothing but Scott, a very tenuous hope in the idea of a shiny new start, and _Harry_. She’s been a little in love with him since she was thirteen. Unfortunately, the way he sees _her_ doesn’t seem to have changed since then to any greater degree than the way she sees him.

“Also, I’ve seen that biotic charge thing you do, and on the maybe-not-so-off-at-this-point chance that things don’t go well with this, I, for one, would _really_ like to have that beside me.”

“You’re going?”

“I am. And I don’t do _old_ quite as well as your dad. If I fall and break a hip out there, you’re probably the only one who would come back for me, so it’s bad news for me if you decide not to come”

She pulls back and, despite herself, even though she hates herself just a little for even being able to at the moment, she can’t help giving him a bemused smile. “You aren’t that fucking old, Harry.”

“Hmph. Says the twenty-two year old who can shoot a a flea off a pyjak’s back at fifty paces.” He tucks a hand under her chin, drawing her gaze to his, suddenly serious. “Lexi--Dr. T’Perro--will take good care of Scott. I promise. You can trust her.”

The asari smiles at her reassuringly when her eyes follow Harry’s gesture. As soon as she feels herself nodding, she’s hit with a rush of annoyance at herself. She wasn’t going to be the push over who bent to everyone else’s requests in Andromeda--especially her father’s. She really wasn’t. And here she is, already giving in and backing down. She pulls a face, at herself more than Harry. “Let me finish my fucking coffee, at least.”

She does, sipping with stubborn slowness because the least she can do now is take her goddamn time. Everyone is pretending that they weren’t just staring at her, which is awkward--everyone except the man in Pathfinder team colors, the one who’d grinned and waved so adorably at her earlier before everything flipped ass-up. There’s blood dripping down his face from his brow, and he seems caught between dealing with that, dabbing at it with one hand and wincing, and approaching her.

“Here, kid, let me take a look at that.” Harry has evidently noticed the blood streaming down his face too.

He gives her one more sympathetic look before he lets Harry sit him down on the edge of the bed across from hers and tend to his face.

After a moment, she hears Harry say, “No obvious contusions to the brain. Looks nice and pink.”

“Wait--the cut’s that deep?”

It’s the blatant alarm in his voice that gets her. She snorts, chokes as the coffee goes down her windpipe. Harry, of course, notices, glancing at her with that faint little smile on his lips, as he replies mildly, “Just kidding. Checking for a concussion. Your cognitive awareness seems okay.”

“Uh… Right. Where’d you get your degree, doc?”

This one’s accent is cute. She’s always liked accents. Not deep and smooth like Harry’s voice, but it’s… cute.

“No need. They’ll let anyone be a doctor around here.”

And that’s it, that’s exactly what it is about Harry that makes her a little stupid for him. There’s obviously nothing wrong with his patient--she’s fairly certain that his words are for her benefit, and she needs that right now, something ridiculous and normal--because ridiculous and normal are exactly what Scott is, and how he would ground her if he were here.

“What?!”

She can’t help laughing out right at the tone of Harry’s poor patient, so startled and bewildered.

He only notices that she’s paying attention then, glancing back and forth between her and Harry. He seems to realize that Harry’s act is more for her than him as well, because after a moment he just says dryly, “ _Funny_ , doc,” as Harry finishes with him, applying a little bandage no bigger than a thumb to his brow. He turns his attention to her then, unlike everyone else still studiously pretending they aren’t still a little shocked by her outburst a moment ago, and he’s grinning as he calls across the space between them, “Hey, there! Hell of a wake up call, huh? Didn’t expect that first thing out of stasis.”

She smiles back for a moment, caught in his infectious enthusiasm, and then she glances at Scott’s stasis pod one more time, and the smile dies on her lips. “Makes two of us,” she says, rather flatly. She swallows the last of her coffee and leaves the mug on the end of the bed. “Hang in there.”

She isn’t sure who she’s even talking to: No Obvious Contusions, Scott, herself.

Probably herself. Because shit is _definitely_ about to get worse--one thought spared for the man waiting for her on the bridge is enough to assure her of that.


	2. Make Them Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually intending for this ficlet to be the rare piece of smut from me, and while that didn't happen, I haven't ruled out the possibility of adding it in at some point...

“I had to have my stomach pumped once, I’ve never been in love, and I’m glad I came to Andromeda.”

Sara swivels around on the crate she’s lounging on top of to flash an alarmed look at the engineer. “Shit, Gil, it better not be the fucking last one. It’s supposed to be Two Truths and a Lie, not Who Needs to Make an Appointment With Lexi the Most.”

“What? _If_ I’ve ever had my stomach pumped, it would have been back in the Milky Way, and, I mean, love is a big deal. That’s some deep commitment shit. And I can say for absolute sure that I _have_ had _great_ sex, so I don’t know how much I’d really believe I’m missing out on. _If_ that’s not the lie.” He grins cheekily at her. “But really, Andromeda? The Scourge? No golden worlds, aliens who want nothing but to destroy us, shitty third rate politicians who can’t agree on anything in charge of everything? What’s not to love?”

“ _Eighth_ rate politicians, more like,” Drack grunts from his place along the railing, looking down into the lower level of the cargo bay.

“Even better! So, what do you say? Wanna put money on it?”

Sara just snorts. “What did I hear Liam say once? I need my creds and my clothes and both my kidneys? As hard as you’re _selling_ which one is the lie, I still can’t decide if that’s just, like, a _double bluff_ to try to get me to pick something else because it really is the truth. In any case, I’m not dumb enough to put money on calling your bluff whether the game is poker or not.”

“You’re no fun. Any other takers? How about it.”

Liam is the first to answer, laughing and shaking his head. “ _Nope._ Still need all that shit.”

“Vetra?”

“Not happening. At least at poker I _almost_ beat you. There aren’t enough degrees of success here.”

Gil is still trying to get someone to take his wager. “Peebee? Come on, you’re brave.”

“It’s not fear making anyone turn you down on this, Gil. It’s good sense, and even I have a little of that.”

Cora laughs. “And when it’s such obvious sense that even Peebee sees it, good luck finding someone who doesn’t.”

Suvi eyes Gil over the edge of her mug, sipping slowly before asking, “What are the stakes?”

“Loser takes the winners next three turns cleaning the bathroom.”

“Ohh, that’s nice. I’ll take it. It’s the stomach pump.”

Gil’s face immediately falls. “You’re never invited to poker, so you know.”

“Make sure you get the corners in the shower. I think everyone else might not always do, because it’s a bit disgusting sometimes.”

“ _Nice_ , Suvi.” Liam catches her eye from the other end of the cargo bay and gives her an expectant look. “All right, Sara’s turn.”

She doesn’t really want to play. Milky Way Sara wouldn't have. But in the Milky Way, Sara always had Scott. And mom. And without them, she’s found she can’t keep just holding everyone else at arm’s length, that sometimes she has to let down her guard and make herself vulnerable, because what this crew has become to her over the last few months, when her hands were too tied to hold out to keep them at bay? It’s worth playing along and risking humiliation for _that_.

Sara sits up straighter, hesitates a moment for dramatic effect, and then says, “None of my scars are from combat. I’m a virgin. And I hate my father.”

It’s a little bit of a risk, because she wanted to make it good, not just three bullshit details that don’t mean anything to her or anyone else, but honestly, she _doesn’t_ want to admit which one is the lie in front of all of them like this, and the fact that she doesn’t want to push them away doesn’t really do anything to change the fact that that’s just a little closer than she’s really ready for. She’s a step ahead of Gil though, because the thing is, no one on this ship has anything she wants badly enough to give up the truth about the lie.

“No one said you had to make one of them an _obvious_ truth.” Peebee’s voice is somewhere between bemused and awkward.

A brief buzz of relief.

“It’s gotta be the virgin thing, but does anyone know how she actually _did_ get this?” Gil gestures to his own nose, the implication obviously the scar that runs from between Sara’s brows down to her upper lip.

“No idea, but I’m with you. No way she’s a virgin,” Peebee answers instantly.

“Suvi?” Gil asks, his estimation of her abilities clearly not the same as it was ten minutes ago.

“Oh, I don’t know. I felt sure about yours. I’m not sure about any of those though.”

Sara wonders if she isn’t just being polite. She’s thought more than once that Suvi sees with her head in the clouds (or the rocks, as the case may be) more than most can see staring straight at a thing.

Vetra and Cora both agree with Gil, Vetra sounding half apologetic, and Cora hesitating before answering, sounding like she’s kicking herself for giving one at all as it reluctantly comes out.

Sara wonders if she knows the real story about where she got her scar. Dad always thought it sort of epitomized her and Scott, and she wouldn’t put it past him to to tell it to illustrate a point. A point like, say, “My children can be a little stupid, please keep an eye on them.” That’s more credit than she’d have given him for thinking of either of them at all once, but she just doesn’t know anymore. In any case, she knows what Cora definitely _is_ thinking of--every one of the hundred times she’s heard Sara obstinately refuse to refer to Alec Ryder as her father, opting instead for, “that selfish son of a bitch.”

Gil is finishing his poll of the rest of the crew, trying to stack his odds. “Drack?”

“I’m just here to offer grouchy commentary; I’m not actually playing.”

“Right. Well. We’re all agreed. So what do we win?”

Sara just smiles. “What do _I_ win if you’re wrong?”

“Stop bluffing, you already lost.”

“ _Did_ I though? You’ll have to offer me something good if you want to find out. Who has chocolates that _aren’t_ filled with strawberry cream left?”

" _Bluff_. I’ll take _all_ of your bathroom cleaning shifts for the next year, _and_ you can have my chocolates.”

“You _sure_ about how she got that scar?” Vetra asks, a little dubious.

Gil is plainly ignoring Vetra’s caution, so Sara does too. “Wait, but what chocolates _do you actually have left_?”

“I mean, only like four, but I don’t think any of them are strawberry cream.”

“Mmm. No good. Someone make me a better offer.” For a whole box, she might even consider abandoning the original plan to just not answer.

“What?!” Gil’s pitch reminds her of a cat that’s had its tail stepped on. “She just doesn’t want to admit she’s lost. Whatever. Vetra, your turn.”

Everyone must agree, because they move on just that easily, and it never does come up again.

A week later, she doubts any of them even remember the conversation.

 

 

She didn’t think she could hate the kett any more than she does when she kneels beside Jaal in the facility on Voeld as his hand hoovers just above the face of the man who not ten minutes ago was angara, too horrified to touch the face that’s now kett.

And then Liam’s voice almost breaks as he lets the image projected from his omni-tool flicker out, the car so slowly making its way toward them from the Milky Way, the one that’s coming and always will be. The nostalgic smile fades and the expression on his face suddenly looks like defeat. “I don’t know what that means.”

And it’s not even just about the kett, she knows that--it’s about how, even in the face of the kett, their own people just keep letting everyone down again and again. And she hates everyone a little for that too--Tann and Addison and _definitely fucking Spender_ \--but especially the kett. Fuck the fuckng kett.

She can’t even properly muster up any enthusiasm for her hatred though, because Liam, bright and bouncing, always the first to make her feel better about everything, whose mouth is even less still than the rest of him, is just sitting there, silent and motionless, and she doesn’t know what to say. So she reaches out a hand, fingertips brushing hesitantly over the scruff of his chin and tracing up his jaw toward his ear.

She isn’t sure it’s the right thing, but she thinks of how often touches her, idly, absently, of how just him bumping his arm against her shoulder has comforted her in the past, and he must find some comfort in touch too, to do it so often, right?

She doesn't have to wonder long. After only a beat, he’s leaning in toward her, his palm a soft, warm pressure on the back of her neck until they’re resting forehead to forehead. She makes herself breathe deep and slow, and it’s only when his breath matches hers, blowing out in a heated gust across her own lips, that she realizes just how intimate the position is.

She thinks suddenly, stupidly, of the blooming tea her mother used to make in a clear glass kettle, unfurling and unfolding petal by petal. He makes her feel like that. It started in the cryo bay of the Hyperion just before Andromeda went tits up, that smile and wave, the first tendril uncurling from the tightly spun ball. And it kept going when every time all she could think was, _holy fuck_ , and he’d say something like, “I think you’re up for it,” so certain of her whether she was of herself or not. At some point, she thinks it started happening every time she hears him laugh, even when it’s just from across the bridge, even when she’s not part of the conversation at all.

But suddenly it’s not a soft and sweet unfurling. Something has flared to life inside her so fast that it’s left her dizzy and caught itself up in her breath, which has gone from slow to shaky in an instant.

He wants something familiar.

But her? She wants something shiny and new, just _one_ first that she came to Andromeda for that isn’t a complete fucking disaster.

And maybe they can both find what they’re looking for.

His eyes are closed. His eyes are closed, but he must feel her moving because when she tilts her head, he tilts his too, meeting her halfway with a press of lips.

 _This_ , at least, certainly isn’t something she’s _never_ done before, but wherever the confidence to part her lips and run her tongue against his comes from, it isn’t exactly born of _experience_ either.

It doesn’t matter. This is easy. It’s good. It just works, without thought. Every movement, every lick and stroke builds something between, kissing harder and faster. When she bites at his bottom lip, he makes a noise and shifts them both until she’s on her back. She expects him to come down on top of her, is already leaning forward to catch his lips again, but he pauses over her, closes his eyes once like he’s blinking away the lust, and when he does come down, he settles himself _behind_ her on the couch, one arm wrapping around her waist as he presses a little kiss just below her ear.

“That movie library you got from the Nexus? They’ve got all the Blasto vids. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a Blasto vid? More than six hundred years. Watch one with me?”

For a moment she doesn’t even know how to react. Because he’s got an arm around her, and after he asks about _watching fucking Blasto with her_ , he drops another kiss on her neck, right on the pulse point, and it makes her shiver. In the end though, even his arm and his kisses can’t hold it back, the disappoint and the embarrassment and the certainty that’s she’s just fucked up somehow.

“Um. Sorry. Shit. I shouldn’t--um. Sorry. Should I just go?”

“What? No. Why?” His arm tightens around her, more, she thinks, his way of indicating that he doesn’t _want_ her to go than a suggestion that he wouldn’t release immediately if she pulled against it. “You really hate Blasto that much?”

And even now, when she kind of wishes the black hole that she thinks just might actually exist inside this couch—because it certainly looks like it’s eaten things and maybe people in it’s day—would go ahead and swallow her up, he can make her let out a little huff of amusement.

“Uh, Blasto is _amazing_. And by amazing, I _do_ mean terrible, but only in a really awesome way. I just, um--” She’s glad she’s facing away from him as she struggles to actually say the words, like this is the casual, ordinary, and familiar thing to her that she’s pretty sure it is to him. “I thought that we, um, were going for a _different form of entertainment_? Did I… do something wrong?”

He chuckles softly in her ear, and there is a _decidedly_ sexual tension in the sound, sending ripples through her. “ _No_. More like _right_. Look, Regular Me makes some shitty decisions. Lost His Shit Me probably makes even worse ones. I don’t trust Lost His Shit _and_ Horny as Fuck Me to do _anything_ right.”

“Um? Was there really anything to _decide_ other than, _yeah, okay_?”

“...When to stop?”

She’s definitely the more embarrassed one—the _only_ embarrassed one, she thinks—but it’s hard to say which one of them sounds more puzzled at this point.

“...Were we _going_ to… _stop_?”

There’s a brief pause that speaks his surprise as clearly as the word, “Oh,” would have. “Shit, Sara, be serious, you don’t really want your first time to be on the mangiest couch in Andromeda, like this, with me, do you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying your virginity is like your treasure or you need to protect your virtue or some creepy shit, but you’re gorgeous, and there’s no way it’s just that no one was _ever_ interested at all, so it means _something_ to you. I mean, more than _this_ , right? Also, you don’t just fuck a virgin hard—I mean, my mother raised me better than _that—_ and that’s… that’s probably where I’m at right now.”

Despite her embarrassment, she’s surprised enough that she finds herself twisting, turning to face him. “You _knew_?”

He gives her a little half smile, and it’s not quite sad but it’s not happy either. “Two Truths and a Lie. You can sell your bullshit to everyone else on this ship if you want, Sara, but I’m not buying it. You don’t hate your dad.”

That catches her off guard entirely, that he even remembers. And hadn’t he agreed? Everyone who was there had agreed, other than Suvi and Drack, who’d refused to play, she’s sure of it.

...But she can’t remember him saying anything one way or another at the time, now that she thinks about it, and that in and of itself should have been noteworthy, Liam being silent about anything.

She settles back against him, mostly so she doesn’t have to keep looking at him. “And you didn’t even rat me out? Missed opportunity, Liam.”

“Nah. Those are your secrets, for you to keep or give up. And Gil would have taken the piss out of you for being a virgin, if he’d realized you actually are, and I didn’t like the idea of that.”

And the crazy thing? She _had_ thought it would be a little fucking embarrassing for any one of them to know, but now, laying here with the weight of Liam’s cheek resting against the side of her head, she doesn’t feel embarrassed or stupid at all. She feels… safe and comfortable. The other thing still sounds like an appealing idea to her, but he’s got a point she can’t really argue with about where he’s at, and honestly, watching vids cuddled against him like this? That doesn’t sound like a bad plan at all either. She laces her fingers through his where his hand is resting against her stomach “We’re going to watch _Blasto Saves Christmas_ , right?”

“Uhh, _yeah_ , we are. Not that they aren’t all _excellent_. But obviously _Saves Christmas_ is the fucking _cherry_ on top--” The sentence seems to be over, but there’s something in the way the last word cuts itself off—she can feel his mind changing gear before he even gets where he’s going.

“ _Don’t_. I mean it, Liam!” There’s as much teasing as warning in her voice though, and that probably ruins it a little.

“ _Cherry_ _on_ _top_.” The words come out with a wheezing amusement, like he really did try not to say them and just couldn’t help himself.

“I’m beside you, asshole.”

 

 

“I’ve got first dibs on a shower.”

“What?!” It’s such a stupid thing to love, that particular way he says the word, “What,” all amused belligerence. “No way. Already called it.”

“But I’ve got sand through my crack.”

He snorts. “If you keep saying that, Jaal’s going to think he had it right.”

“I know. One day he’s going to say it someone who expects him to know what he’s talking about, and he’s going to look like such a dork. But you’re saying I can shower first, right?”

Their eyes meet for a long moment before she reaches out, shoving at him, peals of laughter ringing out as they race up the Tempest’s ramp and into the cargo bay. She’s fast, but he’s faster, already halfway down the hall to bathroom when she squeezes through the doors he tried to shut to slow her down. She’s got a trick left though, charging past him in a blur of biotic fields, slamming into the far wall, and rolling along it into the bathroom. She jams her hand on the door control just in time to watch it slide shut in his face.

“Shit! Wasn’t enough to hand my ass to me at football, had to hand it to me here too?!”

She can hear the laughter in his voice clearly through the thin door.

“Sounds like a really sad story there, Liam.”

“Nah, sounds like a great story about how awesome my girlfriend is.”

She’s smiling like a fucking idiot, she knows it, but _he called her his girlfriend_ , and that’s a thing now, and it’s not the football or the race making her heart pound when she hits the door control again. “I think it would be a better story if your awesome girlfriend really magnanimously decided to share first place with you though.”

He hesitates a moment, the grin on his face entirely as stupid as her own. “You sure?”

She just nods. “You sure?”

“ _Hell yeah_.”

 

Her hair is a _fucking mess_. Like just fucked hair memorialized, because it was wet, and now it’s dried like this. She doesn’t really give much of a damn about it though--doesn’t give much of a damn about _anything_ other than the liquid contentment she’s still floating in--but Liam is propped up on his side, leaning over her, smoothing the wild mass of hair away from her face, combing through it with gentle fingers. And suddenly there are words in her throat that want to come out, but she’s a little scared to say them without at least couching them in something a little ridiculous. But that’s okay, isn’t it, a little ridiculousness? So instead of either saying plainly the words caught in her throat _or_ saying nothing at all, she says this:

“Hey, Kosta.”

“Yeah?”

“Two Truths and a Lie. None of my scars are from combat. I’m a virgin.” She pauses for just a second, to be sure he’s keeping up. “And I’m completely stupid fucking in love with you.”

He laughs, the sweetest, giddy schoolgirl kind of sound, and rains kisses across her shoulder and up her neck to her ear. “You know, right, Sara? I mean, we’ve already established that you’re Han Solo, so you must _know_ , right?”

She can’t help giggling. “Wait, are you supposed to be Leia in this scenario? Because you aren’t Leia. You’re obviously R2D2.”

“I’m R2D2?”

“Yeah. Cutest fucking character in the movie, probably the only one who could do anything like that Havoc Strike thing you do, also kind of out of his goddamned mind.”

“All right, I’ll take that, I guess. But you’re still Han Solo. And you know, right?”

“S’okay, Liam. You don’t have to say anything, honest.” And it’s true. Because whether he says it or not? Yeah, she _does_ know it.

“No! That’s not it. It’s not that I don’t want to say it. But words are words, you know? I wanted you to _know_ , _before_ I say it.” He exhales slowly, nuzzles against her cheek. “I love you, Sara Ryder.”

Stupid fucking smile. It’s making her _face hurt_.

“I know.”


End file.
